


Festive Fun

by Luthienberen



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Tree, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, POV First Person, Romance, Translation Available, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22034452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: John Watson never quite knew what to expect when decorating a Christmas Tree with Sherlock, but it certainly was never dull. Minimal explosions were the main thing he aimed for really…
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 24





	Festive Fun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Small_Hobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Праздничное веселье](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22147288) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> Written for **smallhobbit** as a Christmas Gift, following a lovely prompt of _ACD Holmes, Holmes/Watson Christmas decorations_ :) I hope it is enjoyable!
> 
> 1\. I obtained my information on Christmas tree decorations and lights from the highly informative Social Historian page [Victorian Christmas Tree Decorations](https://www.thesocialhistorian.com/victorian-christmas-tree-decorations/). An excellent and fascinating read!
> 
> 2\. In respect of the glass ornaments I have actually witnessed a German craftsman blowing glass to make beautifully delicate glass ornaments (not Christmas ones) and the experience was magical. I highly recommend if you ever have the opportunity!
> 
> *** _Festive Fun_ has been translated into Russian by the wonderful [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)! Link to the story on A03 is above, but it is also available on Ficbook [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8945361). Thank you Little_Unicorn!***

* * *

Christmas.

A seemingly innocuous word, yet one with profound significance of a religious nature as well as commercial. For my part I observed both the religious and commercial aspects well enough and now that I was as recovered as much as I would ever be from Maiwand, I thoroughly enjoyed the festive season.

Since meeting Mr Sherlock Holmes and eventually developing a very intimate relationship of a romantic overture, Christmas had taken on added meaning.

That is to say, in Sherlock’s company Christmas became another day in the calendar where my dear friend’s talents could be guaranteed to surprise. Ever since the exploding Christmas Cracker incident (and subsequent banning of Sherlock from all future crackers), I approached the decoration of our tree with some trepidation mixed with genuine excitement.

Due to our latest case only finishing a week ago, plus a busy spate in my practice, we hadn’t the time to purchase or decorate a tree.

Consequently, yesterday morning I had handled the obtaining of the bountiful fir tree that now stood prominently in our sitting room in Baker Street. Holmes had spent the day sleeping and regaining his energy after his usual bout of Christmas fasting while on a case.

When Christmas Eve dawned bright and crisp this morning, we were set to decorate our tree with much gladness.

Breakfast was cleared and my personal madman was grinning at me, grey eyes warm with purpose.

“Sherlock, I know that look. Should I be worried?”

Sherlock released that peculiar high laugh of his before answering. His expression was angelically innocent – whether of the fallen kind or unfallen one I would soon learn…

“Now, now, my dear John, what is there to fret over? We are merely going to decorate the magnificent fir tree you kindly purchased yesterday and is now standing proudly by the window.”

A long thin arm gestured towards the tree, which I readily agreed was essentially a large green bush and creating a lovely smell of pine in our sitting room.

“Come,” Sherlock touched my wrist, entrapping me with his slender and delicate fingers. The pale digits against my still tanned skin always made me shudder in happiness, as did the sensation of the calloused fingers. I couldn’t help placing my large hand over them and smiling up at the pale flush in Sherlock’s cheeks.

The door was locked so we were safe. I therefore felt confident in my actions, secure in the knowledge that Mrs Hudson would sound the alarm should visitors intrude upon our sanctuary.

“I shall Sherlock, but do not think that you have distracted me. If there are any further Christmas crackers I expect a massage.”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed. “Turkish?”

“Holmish,” I corrected and laughed at his splutter then shivered at the wicked grin.

Deciding it would be wise to hurry along with whatever nefarious plans my darling had concocted I rose somewhat stiffy, (the cold weather always had my leg play up) and guided us to our splendid tree.

Holmes slipped away momentarily to retrieve a seemingly innocuous bag sitting to one side of the tree. What he revealed upon opening made me sigh. Let the record show that “ _fallen angel_ ” is the correct epithet.

My incorrigible detective had removed a stunning glass ornament, beauty in its delicate lines and fragile nature. Silver colouring brought life to the decoration, creating shading and highlights as appropriate.

The subject matter was not exactly Christmassy in my opinion, though Sherlock’s mind did work in ways marvellous and unknown to even my good self.

The ornament was a splendid rendition of a ghost similar to the Ghost of Christmas Present in the Dickens’ tale, but with a scowling expression, boots and the Freemason symbol. It was a picture of the scoundrel who had tormented a glass maker called Mr Schmidt – all in an attempt to drive the man mad. The idea was for Krämer, as the apprentice, to gain possession of Mr Schmidt’s glass workshop.

A devious man, Krämer had concealed his tracks well, ensuring that it was difficult to prove his involvement until Sherlock, (after being informed of the particulars of the Dickens’ tale by someone who read outside the detective’s understandably specific parameters), had laid a trap and uncovered the spirit for a flesh and blood man.

“Sherlock, how did you succeed in such a feat, a mere week before Christmas Eve?”

“Mr Schmidt was terribly grateful and I couldn’t help but admire his work. This gift arrived yesterday while you were out shopping. Remarkable isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I conceded with a sigh, but pleased that Mr Schmidt had understood Sherlock so well and thanked him in a manner that my consulting detective would love.

“I suppose a spirit does relate to the spiritual realm…”

“Of course my dear Watson! And that story you mentioned to me…A Christmas Carol or some such?”

“Yes and no doubt you shall forget all the pertinent details now it is no longer required for our case?”

“Yes,” said Sherlock in excellent cheer.

I could only laugh and drag my impossible detective to me for a fierce kiss and an embrace where my hands wandered over the slim yet muscular frame. We parted panting with Sherlock staring down at me intently.

“We must move fast John, for I do owe you a massage after all.”

I rolled my eyes at my darling’s pretend repentance, but agreed.

“Put your criminal on the tree then Sherlock. I shall retrieve the dried apples and oranges and our tinsel. Please do refrain from adding _too many_ paper cut outs of the most infamous criminals.”

“How about the small gifts?”

“Sherlock, my love, while I am glad you support my profession – at least occasionally – a set of surgeon’s tools, even in miniature, is not deemed good taste for a Christmas tree.”

Sherlock snorted and his long delicate fingers were soon darting about with his glass ornaments, the aforementioned paper cut outs and of course, the miniatures. Understanding the battle was lost I focused on seizing a suspiciously looking painted matchbox to discover that it exploded into showers of shredded colour paper, obnoxious noise and… frankincense?

Had we helped a priest recently? I racked my brains even as I glared at Sherlock who was gasping for laughter.

“Sorry…sorry John,” he gasped. Then without any guilt, the man let off another matchbox and one larger box.

“Oh, they all work!” he crowed in delight, and I elected to be afraid of the _reason_ behind the necessity for exploding matchboxes and a gift box later, as well as the concern at Mrs Hudson’s reaction to Holmes’ latest antics.

Instead, I focused on the incense ticking my nose, along with my shawl of shredded coloured paper, scraps of cloth and…tinsel? Indeed, I had the appearance of a yeti.

I sneezed following my internal observation as my throat and nose protested the overwhelming scent and calmly shook off some of my decorative additions.

“Run,” I merely advised.

That same wicked grin was flashed my way and I found myself chasing Sherlock into his room and abruptly having an enthusiastic detective kissing me in ‘penance’. I permitted the kiss before pushing Sherlock towards the bed.

“I shall be back once I have secured the tree,” I threatened.

The smirk I received had me move quickly. I limped to the sitting room, glad that a massage would assuage the limb. Once by our tree I checked to ensure that none of the lit candles would fall.

Then I drew the curtains smiling at the effect of the yellow candlelight on the tinsel, apples and oranges, the coloured paper chains and the small metal surgical blade, stethoscope and the glass ornament.

Quite a vision and one that summed up a former military doctor, now occasional civilian doctor and nearly full time partner to one consulting detective, who played the violin like a Master, or allowed it to warble if on a line of peculiar thinking.

In a definite spirit of Christmas Cheer I went to join one Mr Sherlock Holmes for a personal massage, hopefully followed by an undisturbed private session of festive celebration.


End file.
